Harry Potter: Overboard Gryffindor
by Rarsh
Summary: A Harry that fits the description of the stereotypical Gryffindor, convinced he's a Heroic Fantasy novel hero and yet attempts to be cunning; poor Dumbledore doesn't know what hit him. ProfessionalHero!Harry, no bashings, background pairing only
1. Chapter 1

'Very well, you have a good mind... Ambition, and the will to go extremely far to achieve your goals... You're smart, but you have a, say, _straightforward_ intelligence... Loyal to a fault, you'll always protect those you love, with your life if you must; and the _bravery_...' The Hat started, with a drawling and yet interested voice.

'You'd do very well in any of the four Houses, you have all the qualities for that, but those qualities are, in you, tainted by the bravery; it's like the Gryffindor in you twisted all of them to his advantage... With the mind you have, there's really only one House for you, and if you'd take advice from a centuries old hat, take this one: learn how to defend yourself. You'll need it.'

'GRYFFINDOR!' it roared to the Great Hall, Harry's new Housemates standing up to loudly clap, proclaiming their delight, the resst of the Hall clapping too, unsurprised and, in a way, relieved that the Boy-Who-Lived didn't end up in Slytherin.

Harry Potter, national hero of Britain, walked to his new table, his new family, with a straight back and his head held high, as when he entered the Hall minutes before.

Harry was a hero by ambition: unwanted at his home, he'd spent every spare moment away from 4, Privet Drive, to help at the Church, at the school, anywhere he could; it was the fight of an unloved child to protect and support the unlucky and rejected, often at his own risk.

More than once, Harry pounced from a bush to kick a would-be bully in the shins or crotch before disappearing again, and often he'd saved potential targets and victims. He'd followed suspicious individuals to report them to the authorities, confronted people years older than him; he was ten and entered Hogwarts with many scars, but an intact bravery and deserved pride. There wasn't a Heroic Fantasy novel he hadn't read.

Some called him stupid, well if they were right then there was a whole House dedicated to stupid at Hogwarts. And he was determined to be the King of Stupid.

His first friends, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, were expectedly people he knew he'd have to protect one day. A look at Neville had revealed incredible shyness and an expectancy of seven years of heavy bullying while a conversation with Hermione showed she was lonely and with a temperament that would make her life unbearable among magicals.

But not with Harry, oh no, he'd protect them. Not change them of course, but he'd give everything to give those two a good life, including his own. Not that it would be that hard, right? Few would confront the Boy-Who-Lived's best friends, and with time they'd learn to adapt to the world they lived in, until the day they didn't need him anymore.

Harry had also met another kid, Ron Weasley, who would certainly be his friend in the years to come, but the poor redhead was short-sighted, and if left unchecked, a potential bully. He'd keep an eye on the boy but he had no need for Harry's help, his confidence was healthy and his numerous brothers would defend him if need be.

The last relevant encounter of the revealing trainride was of course the introduction of Draco Malfoy; Harry Potter had vowed at the age of three and four months to fight evil wherever it lay, so the blond kid had better be ready for a fight!

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Weeks in, Harry was pleased with his progress. He'd epicly rescued Neville when he'd lost control of his own broom, nobly defended his comrade's valuable property from the hands of his malevolent rival, thus earning his place in his House's glorious team for the fine sport that Quidditch is, defended the Muggleborn lady from the spite of overpampered princesses, and proved his worth through determined hard work and well-earned good grades.

Already Neville's confidence was growing, albeit slowly, and Hermione was starting to understand that shoving knowledge in other people's faces was not a recommended way to socialize in their current environment.

What had attracted his interest most of all, though, was the Forbidden Corridor. A place where painful Death was promised to trespassers; well Harry had trespassed, and after gathering the knowledge that a three headed dog was sitting on a trapdoor, smartly fled to plan further exploration. That damn corridor was a desperate call for adventure, was it not?

Time kept passing by until the night of Halloween: the anniversary of his parent's murder and end of the greatest Evil of the age. Like any good hero would, Harry was sitting away from the celebrating crowds, instead mourning and contemplating a life that was not and would never be his; it was a coincidence that the brown-haired damsel of the Library was crying in her distress in the toilets at the same time, but he'd still decided to go about his unhealthy contemplations in the adjacent boy's toilets, just in case and to feel slightly less alone.

Great sounds that made his very guts vibrate, and a powerful yet disturbing smell invaded his nostrils and made his smaller hairs curl in panic, woke him from his thoughts.

A gracious swipe of his sleeve across his eyes cleansed them of any embryon of manly tears, and he stood up, his mighty wand tightly clenched in his hand, to investigate the matter. Quiet as a feline predator, he prowled out of the toilets to catch a glimpse of a bloodthirsty beast's back entering the theatre of Lady Booksmart's cries of sadness and terror.

There was no time to lose so, an epic theme playing in the back of his mind, Harry proudly stood where there used to be a door, and proclaimed with the courage of a just lion:

'Surrender, creature of the Hells! Or I shall slay you!'

And he waited in fairness for the Troll to finish turning around before incanting a loud '_Glisseo!_' under its large feet. The creature slipped backwards, smashing its small and hard head against the shattering floor.

Wasting no time, and in a flash of inspiration, Harry stuck his wand in his pocket, ran forward, and jumped to land on the Troll's dazed form. In mid-jump he stuck his left hand toward the ceiling and caught the leather hat that appeared in a burst of magical flames.

His right hand plunged in the Sorting Hat and came out of it armed with a ruby encrusted and no doubt enchanted and legendary sword, which he plunged in his opponent's heart with a flourish.

Hermione stopped crying out of sheer shock at what she'd witnessed. Harry was a good friend but she always thought he was a little delusional when it came to his ambitions of braving Fate's trials to save the innocent. Turns out he was not, and he _did _have quite the dazzling smile and intense emerald stare when he courteously helped her up.

The professors soon arrived, only to be confused. There, in the girls' toilets, was Harry Potter of all people, comforting his best female friend with a hand while the other held what was unmistakably Godric Gryffindor's sword. And the Troll they had been looking for, the one supposed to be in the dungeons, was dead in the middle of it all, blood still seeping out his one and fatal wound.

'Tell us Harry,' Dumbledore hesitantly began, 'what exactly has happened here?'

Harry turned to face the flabbergasted Hogwarts staff, his smile still gracing his young face.

'Hermione was in need of help; I provided the help. It shall be known that neither Troll nor Dragon shall harm a student while I walk these halls, that I promise!' he proclaimed, apparently proud more than a little bit at ease in the situation. He simply did not understand where there was a problem.

'Of course Harry, of course.. You did warn us to expect no less, didn't you?' the old man continued, and Harry nodded with confidence, 'though we would be most interested in a more detailed tale of your heroic actions. Let's begin with, I don't know, that sword you're wielding with such grace, maybe?'

'Certainly professor. As you can see, I had already subdued the beast and, while I could have ran with Hermione here, I had only delayed the threat and while it never does to leave a Troll alive in the vicinity of schoolchildren, I wasn't properly equipped to deal a fatal blow. Thus I naturally called for Hogwarts' help and, for reasons that are unknown and do not matter, fire brought the Sorting Hat which in turn gave me the sword. Questions?'

The confusion wasn't lessened a tad, so Dumbledore decided to stay reasonable.

'Harry, if you don't mind, I will meet you in my office at a later time to help us all understand better the events which have transpired today. If you would just hand me the sword and keep quiet about said events until we meet?'

Harry's smile finally faltered, though not much, as a frown made itself known abobe his eyes.

'I'm sorry Headmaster but I do believe it was Hogwarts herself that judged me worthy of the sword and, please do not take offense at my words but, who are we to doubt a millenia old magical castle of legend's decision? I'd rather not try to anger such a powerful entity, thank you. And I also believe it would be wiser to let the other students know that they are perfectly safe, for I shall strive to grant them the peace they deserve!' and the last words were not told, but rather exclaimed, with Gryffindor's sword held as high in the air as an eleven year old can raise a sword, and deep green eyes lost, staring at the infinity of some random spot of the ceiling behind the Headmaster.

It was a long day for Albus Dumbledore.

Despite all of his protests, it seemed that the boy was right and all attempts to force the sword out of his hands was mysteriously foiled by their environment, chunks of stone falling on Snape's outstrectched hand, Dumbledore slipping when he lunged for it and so forth. The story of the Boy-Who-Lived slaying a Troll to save his best friend, a girl of course, with the Sword of Gryffindor, was also spread to all Houses and all years by the next day.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was two months before the end of the year, and the three companions were worried, nervously talking on an isolated couch of the Gryffindor Common Room.

'Someone wants to steal the Stone,' Hermione stated. Neville looked half scared and half confused, like he didn't know and didn't really want to anyway, and hesitantly spoke up:

'But... who? We think Snape was hurt by the Cerberus but other than 'He's evil!' we have no clue!'

Hermione was about to answer when her mouth froze in shock. A new expressions was slowly emerging on Harry's face, an expression they'd learned to fear over the months. Harry was abou to make a heroic speech, he'd convince them to aid him in an epic quest, they'd risk their lives and come up wounded but victorious. _Hopefully _victorious.

Harry had the same look when he convinced them to brave the Forbidden Forest's occupants to save the unicorns, only to end up fighting off a cloaked form with Gryffindor's sword. He'd had the same look when he convinced them to accompany him for his duel against Malfoy. He'd forcefully dragged Malfoy into an empty classroom when he didn't show up for their duel the first time around, and it turned into a battle with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle against Harry, Hermione and Neville. Apparently the Sword could block spells and when he'd sliced both his minions' wands in half, Malfoy surrendered.

It was a bad omen, and for some reason they always went with him; he was just so convincing! And when he wasn't, he was just so stubborn than after a week of constant nagging, they just gave up and accompanied him on his next adventure.

When asked why he never went alone, he only replied 'A group of three adventurers makes for the best adventures!', which only made sense to him. He'd also tried several times to turn Neville into a Healer ('I'm the fighter, Hermione's the scholar, and you're good at Herbology!') and never managed to convince Hermione to carry scrolls around under her free arm.

When the determined expression was finally firmly displayed on his young face, he slowly rose from his seat and started pacing slowly in front of the fire. He had a smile that announced a never-ending speech and both of his friends were already shrinking in terror.

'No, we don't know _who_ the thief is, but hev no fear, for I have a plan! Indeed, why do we care about his identity when we already know where he will strike, and what he aims to steal?'

'So we can warn the Headmaster?' Neville tried to stammer.

'NO!' he shouted, causing Neville to whimper.

'It was a rethorical question! We! Do! Not! care! Attention please, non-rethorical question approaching: what is the best way to make sure the Stone cannot be stealed from the Corridor?'

The two others looked at each other in confusion.

'Nobody? Ha! Easy, we take it first!'

And now that he had announced his plan came the motivational speech. Later, when asked what it consisted in, both Neville and Hermione could only answer that it started with something like 'It is our duty, to our people and against our foes, to defend...', the rest was little more than a blurred mass of exclamations and enthusiasm on Harry's part.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The following day, the three were standing in front of the Forbidden Door under Harry's cloak and with silencing charms all over them. Two out of the three were still wondering what they'd agreed to and why, while the third was firmy holding a raw chunk of beef in his left hand.

He opened the door with his right, and approached the giant dog. The Guardian of the Trapdoor, as he'd taken to calling it, smelled them at their approach and started growling threateningly. Before it could pinpoint their location more precisely, Harry threw the raw meat as far as he could on the side.

The Cerberus, having seen and heard nothing, momentarily left its duty to gulp down the food in one mouthful. It turned around to see the trapdoor closing while screams were coming from beneath it.

A few dozen meters below, three first-year students were slowly getting ensnared in the vicious grip of an evil plant that chose to retreat when most of it was hacked away by an enchanted sword wielded by a fearless kid.

In the next room, Harry easily caught a flying key using the provided brooms.

In the next one, they flew above a chess set using the previously mentioned brooms. The following room was the most challenging one so far...

'We meet again...'

'It's probably not the same Troll, Harry.'

'Hermione, you're ruining the mood. _Glisseo_!'

One mighty stab later, they made their way to a weird room where all exits were covered by magical fires and a riddle would help them find the correct potion to continue or go back. Hermione solved the riddle in under a minute and, after an encouraging pat on the shoulder and enthusiastic compliments from both boys, a blushing girl and her friends entered the weirdest room so far. And also the easiest.

The three of them were flying back when Harry spoke in disbelief: 'All I had to do was look in the mirror and it gave it to me, it makes no sense! The last trial is supposed to be the most original or the hardest, not the most stupidly easy one. I'm disappointed in Dumbledore now.'

His friends ignored his continued mutters of 'Seriously, a _mirror_...' all the way back, and the brooms were fast enough to leave the room before the Cerberus could bite them. Of course Hermione was an even worse flier than Neville so she had to cling to Harry on his broom, something she would have enjoyed a little more without the deadly beast attempting to eat them.

Still, it was nice.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was a thoroughly confused Dumbledore that found the freshly un-possessed corpse of Quirrell in the Mirror room, with the Philosopher's Stone gone. There was no way that Voldemort could have escaped with it if he didn't have a body, and... it just made no sense.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was happily patrolling the school corridors in search of any potential threat to his fellow students; a ferocious beast? A devious bully? Maybe the ruthless manipulations of a first-year who has dreams of world domination? No matter, Harry would slice the danger in dices using the legendary Sword of Gryffindor. Oh, how he _loved_ that sword.

"Greetings, passerby!" he called happily, before abrutly stopping in his tracks: there was something wrong with the jovial passerby...

Maybe it was that he _wasn't_ exactly passing by, more like standing perfectly still in the middle of the corridor with a terrified expression on his face. Further investigation revealed the standerby had cold hard skin, his eyes were completely glassed (_No wonder, they must have been open for hours!_) and only his clothes, glasses and bag weren't still as stone.

He'd seen this before, Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, had been found petrified some time before. Of course Harry had done nothing to save the notoriously evil beast, even if it pained him a little to see the equally evil caretaker that sad; slaying evil was okay, purposefully making it sad... that's just twisted.

Since then however, Harry had spent twice as much time patrolling Hogwarts, only stopping by when he encountered somebody to make sure everything was alright: there was this one time for example when he strolled across young Ginny Weasley's path.

She had been heading toward the girl's bathrooms, which he generously indicated were out of service, and clutching an open diary against her chest, certainly hoping he wouldn't read her personal confessions. Poor girl didn't know heroes respected privacy.

After a minute of small talk ("Are you _certain_ there is no dragon threatening your family and those you care about? No abductions, no demands of sacrifice for Dark rituals?") Ginny had seemed to get very annoyed with his presence, which he therefore gracefully removed from her way, and he could only hope he hadn't made her late to wherever she'd been hoping to go as she'd claimed she would soon be.

_Wait, you can't be late to the bathroom, can you? _

_Nah, it's probably nothing._..

So there he was, epic Sword drawn, ready to defend against any oncoming danger, before returning his attention to the petrified student. With a generous smile he produced a bottle filled with a red potion from his pocket, and poured some of its contents in the half-open mouth of the student. He had to tip the entire teenager back for it to get into his digestive system but it did the trick and soon heat returned to the softening skin.

The Elixir of life was _neat_, and turning lead to gold to give to the poor was nearly just as good. Since he'd rescued - no, not stolen, heroes don't steal - the Philosopher's Stone, he'd been making great amounts of the Elixir of Life and sometimes sneaked into St Mungo's to help the most injured 'mysteriously recover'.

He'd decided not to simply distribute the thing as there was no doubt many would try to steal it for eternal life. His way saved less lives but it ensured that the solution would function in the long term. He also eliminated selling it, for the happiness in Neville's eyes when he was told his parents would recover from insanity was enough payment, though it was too bad his friend had to leave the school for a year to spend time with them, his education being handled by tutors for that time.

The Lead-To-Gold-To-The-Poor project was also running quite smoothly and he would, soon enough, sell a few metric tons of pure gold to the goblins before asking them to redistribute everything between several charity foundations.

The student coughed once, looked confused for a moment, took his glasses off, looked even more confused, and turned toward Harry.

"What just..."

"Fear not, fellow wizard! I have come to cure you of the most impeding ailment that is petrification!"

An eyebrow slowly raised on the unknown student's face, his features already contracted in the deepest expression of thought. "Why don't I need my glasses anymore?"

Harry merely flashed another smile, drank some of the red potion himself and, after a few seconds, removed his own glasses. "It's that potion, remarkable stuff. Do you have any idea _what_ it is that petrified you?"

"I... what is that thing?"

"Not important. The petrification? Others might be in danger!"

Looking defeated, the confused one answered "I only remember seeing eyes. I think there might have been hissing too, but I wouldn't bet on it."

"I thank you, fellow wizard! You may wish to visit the Hospital Ward for a more thorough examination of your current health status."

And he strode away, openly ignoring the other's protests and questions.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Ah, finally I catch you alone, fellow hero!" Harry exclaimed, striding in the professor's classroom.

Gilderoy Lockhart didn't even turn from the mirror he was using to fix his hair; instead he flashed a smile at reflection-Harry, and answered just as joyfully:

"Harry, how nice to see you! I suppose you need advice with your fanmail so you sought out the most famous wizard in Britain?"

Harry's expression darkened.

_How does he dare? Most famous wizard? I dare believe that's me!_

"Excuse me, Professor, but... I can't remember you doing anything even remotely heroic in this castle. Would you care to refresh my mind?" he asked, his normally cheerful voice cold. He didn't become a hero for the fame but nobody, _nobody_ would usurp his title of Most Famous Wizard in Britain.

"Umm, well, there was the time last week when I made the most epic last stand against a group of seven year bullies attempting to brutalize a defenseless third year! What did _you_ do?" Lockhart replied, his hesitancy turning into ferocity.

"Fought an unknown Dark creature in the Forbidden Forest to save the unicorns!"

"Oh yeah? Prevented a drunk Ravenclaw prefect from tearing through his Common Room portrait when he couldn't solve the riddle!"

"Sought retribution when my Archnemesis attempted to lead me into an embush, confronted him and his minions, came out of the battle victorious and unharmed!."

"I told the Elves to change yesterday's menu when I realized they were going to mix pudding and strawberry ice cream for dessert. Saved the meal I did!"

"Vanquished the greatest Dark Lord of the millenia at age one!"

"Only because I didn't get there first! Besides, that wasn't even in the castle! Outside Hogwarts I stopped an Inferi invasion from annihilating Congo!"

"Want me to get back to Hogwarts? Try this one: I saved a maiden in distress, from a grown Mountain Troll, by stabbing IN THE HEART WITH A LEGENDARY SWORD!" and he unsheathed Gryffindor's sword, chopping off half of Lockhart's hair in the same movement.

Deciding his professor's shocked stare meant victory, Harry smugly walked back out of the office to enjoy a celebratory Butterbeer in the kitchen.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Poppy, do you have any idea yet how Potter heals all the petrified students?" Albus asked. The boy wouldn't look him in the eye whenever he attempted even the lightest Legilimency probe since Severus had tried the same and he associated that inquisitive look with evil people.

"I'm sorry Albus, still no idea, but I can't exactly refuse him the right to enter the Hospital Wing if he's going to heal everyone in there in under five seconds every time he visits, and if I question him he just walks away."

"We must find a way, in the meantime try to get a peek at what he does in there, whatever it is cannot be _that_ complicated if a second-year discovered it."

"Do you even think before you speak sometimes? He's not just a boy, and he's not lying when he introduces himself as 'Professional Hero, here's my card, the Floo adress is there. Please call the Goblins for more information.'"

Dumbledore had a surprised expression, "What exactly do you mean Poppy?"

"I mean Harry protected his peers from a Troll, saved the unicorns, subdued over ninety percents of the bullies who used to roam our halls, and he _does_ patrol the corridors at night to help stave off evil. We've never managed to catch him out of bed, for some reason, but he's been seen out several times, and he keeps proclaiming that 'Evil will take advantage of the night to infiltrate the people's stronghold of civilisation.'"

Albus sat on the nearest bed and decided he'd get a good night's sleep before thinking about Harry Potter any further.

"Do you have any Headache Potions left? I have quite the mighty one incoming."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"... need ter follow the spiders," Hagrid said.

Harry turned to Hermione, "Tell me, I need a gorgeous witch to accompany me in the Forbidden Forest, would you care to accompany me?"

_He just called me gorgeous! _was Hermione's only line of thought at that point, "Of course I will, handsome hero!"

"Great, we already have the Cloak, let's go right now!"

"Wait, go where?"

"The Forest, where you just agreed to go. Come, princess! We have to save the innocent!"

Hermione reluctantly followed her best friend past the treeline, and they searched for spiders for over an hour, and, when Hermione finally believed he'd let her go, she heard his voice: "Right here, follow me!"

A sigh and over twenty minutes of walking behind a long line of eight-legged creatures, Harry brought them to a stop under the Cloak.

"Do you hear the clicking sounds?"

She did, and nodded.

"Let's walk slowly now."

Another minute and both stopped in surprise when they were suddenly in front of a car-sized spider, dashing madly around while a distant voice shouted "I smell humans! They're not Hagrid, bring them to me!"

Hermione attempted to get Harry to turn back around, but he grabbed her arm in a strong grip, blocking her. She whispered a small "Why?" in his ear, and the serious look in his eyes when he turned around to completely face her frightened her. His features were cold as steel, and he had started slowly unsheathing Gryffindor's Sword.

His voice was low, and yet powerful, for it was all she heard when he spoke.

"We're surrounded."

A second later, Harry flung the Cloak toward the sky, raising the Sword in a threatening and striking pose; "BRING IT ON!"

Hermione stepped back once, only to trip on a root and fall on her behind. When she looked back at Harry, he was fighting a mesmerizing dance in the middle of a dozen giant Acromantulas, the Sword occasionally catching the seldom ray of light in a magical glint.

Spider body parts were flying around Harry, and he dodged, parried, deflected, and hit in the same movements, until all around him were lying on the ground, dying in a disgusting pool of Acromantula hair, fluids, and small parts.

More were standing in a wider circle around him, carefully assessing their opponent. Suddenly, there was an orchestra of clicking, the creatures getting excited for an unknown reason; Harry merely looked around himself, taking in his environment. There was no glee or good mood visible in his expression, only awareness of lethal danger and cold calculation, with the aim to survive, save his friend, and nothing more. No heroics, only the fight of a cornered warrior.

Hermione had no idea where he'd learned how to use his sword in such a graceful, effective and deadly manner, but his technique was flawless, and morbidly beautiful. It was a new facet of Harry she was discovering at that moment, but her thoughts were brutally interrupted.

An Acromantula, easily three times as big as the largest one Harry had vanquished so far, stormed into the wide circle, batting away deeply rooted trees as it rushed toward the boy. The thing was truly _huge_, and at full speed it had reached Harry less than a second after it was first seen.

The... _thing_'s first blow sent Harry flying several meters high in the air, but he managed to sever one of its front legs with an overhead blow as he fell back down hard on the ground.

Both opponents stepped back, Harry favoring a leg while the Acromantula prepared another tactic.

"My name is Aragog, and you have attacked my family. Die, human!", and Aragog went on its second rush, jumping before reaching its prey, intent on crushing him under its considerable weight.

Only, an instant before impact, the Cloak slipped from the tree branch it had landed on after he first threw it, and covered him back again. Aragog hit the ground, hard, but without any meat to devour under its legs. It stepped back, running around wildly, looking for the human, and caught another scent.

The beast started heading for a panic-struck Hermione; Harry appeared back, tossing the Cloak aside, right under Aragog, and drove Gryffindor's Sword in its belly.

"No! No! No..." it clicked, attempting to lift itself off the sharp blade, but Harry started hacking it from the inside and, finally, Aragog died.

"Back off, all of you, your Lord is dead! Save your miserable lives and run, because my sword is still hungry!" he taunted, and the pack scattered around the Forest.

Harry picked the Cloak back up, brushed his clothes in a useless attempt to straighten them, and led Hermione back under it to head for Hogwarts again. He refused to answer Madam Pomfrey's questions as to how he ended up like this, and why his friend was in a state of shock.

It was only a week later that hermione asked the question that had been on her lips for a long time. Harry had gone back to his cheerful self the day after the fight.

"Who taught you how to fight like that?"

Harry smiled at her, "There is this portrait called Sir Cadogan, a fine Knight this one, and you see..."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"_Serpensortia_!" Draco cast at Harry while smirking the usual 'Evil Future Dark Overlord Smirk'.

Gilderoy Lockhart, of course, recognized this as the perfect opportunity to get back at Harry; who better to save than precisely _him_ if he wanted to prove himself the greater hero? The blond wizard stepped forward, raised his wand, and opened his mouth, only for a a disappointed groan to get out of it.

Harry looked back at him, holding a half-serpent in one hand and his sword in the other.

Lockhart looked back at Harry.

Harry shrugged.

The second half of the snake twitched on the ground.

Draco was confused.

Lockhart left.

The students clapped, and Harry bowed, brandishing the slain viper like a trophy.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Why would we use Polyjuice?" Harry asked.

"To infiltrate the Slytherin Common Room and ask Draco if he's the Heir of Slytherin, of course," Hermione replied confidently. She was sure that if she was the one who designed the plan for once, there wouldn't be any mortal danger involved.

"Ha! Sometimes you have to drop the cunning Hermione, doesn't fit you. Wait here."

And he left, Hermione gaping in outrage behind him.

Five minutes later, Harry came back in Myrtle's bathroom, which had become their new Headquarters despite his complaints over the overall lack of epicness the setting offered. At her questioning look, he grabbed something in the air, pulled the Cloak out of it, and revealed an unconscious Draco floating in mid-air. Before she could add anything, he levitated the boy straight in a stall, bound him to the toilet seat, and cast a quick _Ennervate_.

"What, where am I? Release me Potter, or my father will hear of th-" he finished his phrase with a gulping sound when a blade came to rest against his throat. He looked into his nemesis's eyes, and only refrained from gulping a second time because it hurt against the sword.

Harry spoke, "I have _one_ question for you, Evil Kid. And you're going to be honest with me, because, if you lie, ..." he moved his mouth closer to the Malfoy heir's ear, and loudly breathed in, then out with the words "I'll know it".

The overall effect of waking up bound to a toilet seat and immediately getting interrogated by a sword-wielding psychopath was rather creepy to poor Draco.

He nodded, and Harry moved back, the sword tip now drawing light patterns on his throat. "Are you the Heir of Slytherin?"

the reminder that the Heir was in the school again brought back some of Draco's defiance, and he spat "No, and I only wish he'd reveal himself to me so I could help him!"

Harry smiled and delibarately used a bludgeoner instead of a simple _Somnio_ to knock him back out. He turned back at his female friend, still smiling, and said "Wasn't too hard, see?"

Of course Harry also spent a week in detention, cleaning the corridors with Filch, but he didn't mind because he could still somewhat defend the castle during those nights.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Professor?" Harry called out from the half-open door.

"What do you want now, Potter! True heroes don't compare their wands, I'll have you know!" Lockhart snapped, still irate over the boy's lack of consideration for his reputation.

"Come on, you shouldn't be that mad just because I received ten more Valentine's cards than _you_ did, professor. See you around!" he joked before leaving Lockhart to fume in his office.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry handed the obviously enchanted diary to Hermione. He was the hero of the group, but he still immensely respected his friend's intellectual abilities, and since he recognized it from his much earlier encounter with Ginny Weasley, he decided not to have fun with the thing that was mysteriously thrown up by the toilets.

Two days later, she came back to him with only two pieces of information: the thing was tainted by Dark Magic ("So be careful with it or I'll tell Professor McGonagall on you!") and Tom M. Riddle, the first owner of the diary went to Hogwarts fifty years before them.

Knowing the quickest way to investigate was to ask someone who already had the answer, he went to the first professor he could think of who had been working there for that long: the Headmaster.

"Hello professor!"

"Hello Harry, but let me ask, how did you get past the gargoyle?"

"I brandished the Sword, called it a foul beast and pretended to attack. I'm such a Slytherin sometimes," he joked.

"Of course, of course... So, what brings you to my humble office, Harry? I hope you haven't discovered anything dangerous in the corridors. Lemon drop?"

"No thanks, and nothing of the sort Headmaster, I discovered it in the toilets." Dumbledore was, once again, confused. "Does the name Tom M. Riddle ring any bells?"

After ten minutes of refusing to either answer the old wizard's questions or meet his eyes, Harry got the answer he was looking for: Tom Marvolo Riddle was the young Lord Voldemort.

"I can only advise you not to do anything drastic with that information, Harry. It is a lot of trust I put into you today," he said before the student could left.

Harry was perfectly serious when he turned around to answer, "I know when the time is for heroics, and when it is for sensible decisions, Headmaster. I appreciate your trust," and left.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Indeed, he recognised a situation when heroics would be a liability, not that he liked the idea, but he accepted it. Of course, he could try to communicate with the thing, engage in a long mental struggle to try and overcome the Dark Lord's will and magic, maybe fight an avatar of Lord Voldemort in his Hogwarts years, or even seek the Beast of Slytherin and defeat it after the most epic confrontation.

But, alas, no. _It is sad to be sensible, but it is sometimes necessary_, he thought when, not smiling this time, he brought Gryffindor's Sword down on the Diary.

A scream, or rather a soul-vibrating shrill, echoed in the castle that night.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

_It was a good year... Wonder what next September will bring, though_ _I do miss Neville,_ he thought as he entered his Uncle's car, readying himself for a hard summer. Heroes often had difficult backgrounds, and it was maybe the worst part of being one.


	3. Chapter 3

'_Dear Mister Black,_

_I have heard from friends and caring ones, though they didn't actually know I was listening, not that that matters much to me, that you are out to kill me. It is for that reason that I am glad to challenge you to a duel between Hero of profession and foul criminal. Or do you prefer 'Dark Overlord's Evil Right Hand'? Let me know in your answer, I wouldn't want to offend you before I slice your head clean off your shoulders._

_Anyway, before we fight, could we, like, have a little talk, you know, to tell me _why on earth_ you betrayed your best friends and turned Dark? I found that the only reason available so far is your being raised by notoriously Dark people, but I myself have been raised by overgrown bullies and I much prefer elbow dropping bullies than bullying people myself._

_Please do not murder this owl, it is not even mine._

_With great hopes for your answer,_

_Harry Potter, your Godson_'

And that was how Harry ended up discovering the full story of his parent's deaths. It never occured to him how the story could have been fabricated, after all it _did_ perfectly fit a Hero's background, so he had no reason not to fully accept it with a smile.

Anyway, all he had to do was go and get redhead's half-dead rat to be certain, meanwhile he simply had to keep a hand close to Gryffindor's Sword and all would be fine.

-o-O-o-

"Why won't you die!" Harry screamed, weakening, his breath freezing before his eyes, while he kept slicing and stabbing at the cloaked figure before him.

Finally, the immortal thing grabbed his head with both black and withered hands, and leaned in as if to Kiss Harry.

A bright light slowly emerged from the unconscious boy's limp and open mouth and, while nobody was close enough to notice it, a small, darker fragment of the light separated itself from the rest of it and flew slightly faster to the rasply sucking beast's head, for it was hard to call the hole in the thing a mouth.

Then, a silver light ran across the corridor, pushing the monster away. Unseen again, the darker light was absorbed by the demon while the brighter part flew back to Harry. It was only days later that Harry woke up, in the Hospital Wing, and still feeling weak from the ordeal he'd been through.

It turned out that many experts had been wondering at the state his soul would be in, since never had someone been saved so close to a completed Dementor's Kiss. While he was out, Sirius Black had also been officially freed, Peter Pettigrew succesfully Kissed, and Black was also appointed Harry's magical guardian.

Not a bad way to wake up, really.

-o-O-o-

Harry was bored. _Bored_! For a year, _nothing_ happened! Nothing!

What's a Hero supposed to do in times of peace? Train? Even that got boring after a few months. If not for Sirius Black, it would have been a horrible year... _Thank Merlin for escaped convicts; what would I do without you?_

Summer had come though, and hopefully the next year would make up for this... this pathetic attempt at an eventful year in a Hero's life.

-o-O-o-

_I should have read up on that Sword a long time ago_, Harry mused as he practiced summoning it into his hand. The Sword's true master could actually will it to himself from any distance, a practical and practically unwardable against move.

It really was too bad that the police would intervene if a teenager was seen chasing bullies while wielding a Medieval sword in the neighborhood, though it _did_ help him practice his unarmed moves. Knee-cap-kicking, head-butting, elbow-dropping, eye-out-of-the-socket-popping, all of them very useful techniques.

He stopped summoning the sword for a moment, a thought suddenly striking his keen mind; the Sword didn't use a regular Summoning Charm, so maybe... just maybe...

Harry stretched forward his hand, the Sword proudly held in his fist. He then focused and, with a slight jerking motion of his hand, sent it forward; it entered his bedroom's wall, which would certainly leave a mark, but still: he'd done it!

Only weeks later, Harry was having fun making Gryffindor's Sword fly around his room without even looking at it anymore. This was _so _cool, and it would certainly have been useful in the past. Well, no regrets, he was still alive, wasn't he?

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'get to the woods'?" Harry asked, apparently baffled by the adults' words.

"Those people are Death Eaters, we have to run!" was the answer that was generally agreed upon, and shouted by most present in the space between the two tents.

"My point exactly! You go where you want, and I'll run too, though of course it'll be straight into the bad guys," he firmly replied to his panicked company, before turning on his feet and walking toward the screams.

"But you can't use magic!" screamed Neville.

Harry's hand rose in the air. Not ten seconds later, a gleaming, ruby-encrusted sword flew into it. He slightly turned his head around: "Who needs magic?"

At first, the Death Eaters thougth they were under a Charms Master's attack, which the flying and quite skilled in the dismembering and impaling areas sword seemed to indicate.

Then, Lucius Malfoy's kneecap was bent in the wrong way, and everyone faced the wrath of a wrestling thirteen year old Professional Hero, with cursing the small maniac rendered risky because of the still-rampaging Sword of Doom.

It took the Aurors several minutes before they could stop Harry Potter's slaughter, and they weren't even able to convict him for anything since none could prove it was him who had controlled the Sword around. Indeed, whenever a spell was cast to identify its Master, it pointed to a random person, and once to a famous Herbologist known for his hatred toward violence and who died in 1675.

After the investigation revealed that Harry had only wounded, though sometimes quite severely, people who were being a threat to his person at the time, he was released with a pamphlet on reacting appropriately to violence (_This thing _lies_! Why should I flee, negociate or contact the authorities? That's for... common citizens, not _heroes_. Especially not professional ones_).

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'Contestants must be of age?' Do you see a _single_ Professional Hero of age around here? I think not!" Harry raged aloud in the Hall.

Not one apart from the first years and Mad-Eye Moody was surprised by the outburst, some having even predicted it before it happened, since Harry had made his Hero status quite clear in the previous years, what with wielding a legendary sword and telling the tales of his epic adventures in front of the fire in the cold nights of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Dumbledore turned to Harry: "I am quite certain that your thirst for epic adventures will be satisfied as always, my boy," he reassured with a smile. Dumbledore, when he managed getting past the confusing aspect of the young Gryffinfor, had grown quite fond of him.

"I'd better, otherwise you'll hear of me!" he answered hotly, already trying to think of ways he could get past the Age Line.

Actually, it couldn't be too hard... the Sword _was_ over eight hundred years old, wasn't it?

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I'm going to cast the Imperius Curse on all of you'? I'm not taking part in this evil plot to rid the world of its latest, and I should say most awesome so far, Professional Hero!"

Mad-Eye, again, had the confused look he'd gotten every time he'd tried speaking with the boy.

"Why do you think I'm evil?" he asked innocently.

"I think it's quite obvious. The creepy scars, the creepy eye, the creepy teaching methods, the fact that you're new here, the cursed position, the evil curse; doesn't need any more explaining."

"_Imperio_!"

"_Imperio_!"

"_Imperio_!"

"Damn it, stop blocking with that sword of yours, Potter!"

He did not, for the man, when he attacked Harry without warning with a potentially evil spell, lost every single ounce of trust Harry had left in him.

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'Two Harry Potter's are competing'?" was Karkaroff's angry reaction to the situation.

"The Goblet lies not, my esteemed colleague, and Harry's name came out of it twice tonight. Therefore, he will participate twice to the Tournament," Dumbledore calmly explained. Regular interactions with Harry had left him quite immune to confusion and he fully intended to take advantage of this new ability.

"How are we going to do this?" asked Madame Maxime in her distorted English.

"I believe Harry will have to compete twice, as I said; my diasgnotic spells show that he is twice bound to the Cup, and I fear he will have to participate as if he were two different contestants, else he may suffer the consequences of disrespecting the magical contract."

There was silence in the room, with everyone except Dumbledore and Harry utterly confused, the latter was beaming of course.

"Why would the child even enter himself twice? And how did he get past the defenses?" Karkaroff asked.

A shiny blade flew under Karkaroff's chin before he could blink.

"I am not a child. I am a Professional Hero."

Looking down, the Headmaster of Durmstrang saw there was a contact card on the sword's side. He politely pocketed it and the flying weapon sheathed itself on Harry's side.

"As I was saying, how and why did he enter himself twice?" he started again.

"I only entered myself once, and don't know who put my name in the second time, though I ought to thank him. I'm half the competition by myself!"

Everyone ignored him, because as long as the sword was out of sight he was still a child to them, the grown-ups who had faced less evil and righted less wrongs than Harry had in his admittedly shorter but more action-packed life. Dumbledore continued.

"I suspect a powerful and, I shall say, rather obscure variety of the Confunfus Charm must have been employed for the second time. Harry, how did you enter yourself, by the way?"

"Put the piece of paper on the Sword, flew it above the Cup, and dropped it in. Apparently the Sword is considered its own person, or a part of Hogwarts maybe, because it worked."

"Well, this meeting is, I believe, over!" Dumbledore exclaimed, still unfazed by the unusual situation.

The others obediently followed him out, still confused the hell out of their minds.

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I challenge you to a duel to the death'?" Draco asked, apparently still not aware of Harry's views on how to deal with evil bastards; his policy dictated that a headless bastard was just as evil but definitely less of threat than a headed one.

"Your 'Potter Stinks' badges. They are an insult to my honor, and I have decided to defend myself. Refuse the duel and it is your honor that will be tainted by cowardice, instead of mine by slander," he calmly explained. Gryffindor's Sword was silently hovering behind Draco's head in case of a surprise attack, a strategy he was sad to discover he could not use on Moody since the evil professor could see behing him with his creepy eye.

"I'm not dueling you, you fight with a magical sword that stops everything I'll cast at it! It's not like anybody will know I refused the duel anyway."

"I'm recording this conversation."

"You what? Know what, if you fight without the sword, _then_ I'll duel you!" the blond replied theatrically, as if he'd solved a mystery that had puzzled humanity for decades.

"Of course, I don't even have it on me!"

And so they dueled.

"Stop dodging, Muggle lover!" _Croc_ "That was my knee!" complained Draco after letting out a loud whimpering sound.

"I know," a not even sweating Harry replied.

"My father will hear of this, Potter! And call Madam pomfrey if you have any darn honor!"

"I've already sent an owl to your father to let him know his father was bested by muggle fighting, and Madam Pomfrey's on her way. Have a good hospitalization, Draco. And please burn the badges."

Harry then unceremonially left an outraged and collapsed Draco Malfoy behind him. It was a good day.

-o-O-o-

"_Imperio_!" shouted Moody in the corridor.

Harry had the Sword block the spell. "You can stop trying that, professor."

"Damn you, Potter!"

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I'll have to Obliviate you, Harry'?" asked a distrusting Harry.

Dumbledore sighed. "You will technically have to be present at the Wand Weighing Ceremony, twice! The only way we've found so far was to have you attend it a first time, Obliviate you of it, send you back in time a few hours using a Time-Turner, have you attend it a second time, then restore the memories." Harry frowned. "Listen, I'll even sign a Magical Contract to prove I'm honest. Is that alright with you?"

"I guess it'll do," was the dissatisfied answer Harry gave his Headmaster. He was quite curious about meeting himself, but he wasn't looking forward to the Obliviation, so it had better be a very nice meeting he had with himself.

Dumbledore also informed him they would have to repeat the strategy for each Task so he didn't know what was ahead of him the second time he went through them.

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I'm your senior so I get the best pictures'?" Harry-1 asked.

Harry-2 shrugged smugly, "Obviously I'm older than you are; that makes me the Senior Hero here, so step aside, youngling, and let the professionals handle the papers."

Harry-1 growled, not intending to be bested by that arrogant fool, and drew the Sword-1, only for it to meet Sword-2. In the end, all reporters diverted their attention and cameras away from the other Champions to witness and document this epic fight between two National Heroes, each wielding a legendary weapon. The fact that both the weapon and the fighter were technically affronting themselves only made it better.

In the end, both Harry's chopped the other's sword-arm off, thus ending the fight on a half-epic-half-pathetic note, since both collapsed from blood loss simultaneously and Madam Pomfrey rushed in, faster than it would have been thought possible, to repair her students. Student. Students. Who knows?

When both had their respective limb reattached, and the healer had great care not switching the arms or one would have been caught in a time-loop resulting in the arm infinitely and instantenously aging, which they did not want, Harry-1 was Obliviated, sent back in time - to have his arm cut off once again - along with a note that automatically flew to the Hospital Wing once the time travel was completed.

Harry-2 was instead kept in the Hospital Wing until he had completely recovered from losing the same arm twice in a row, and went on with his life, still contemplating the day's events with fondness. _I guess a Hero does not do 'simple'..._

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'Harry will have to face a dragon, twice'?" A most irate Hermione demanded of her esteemed Headmaster.

"You know exactly what I mean, Miss Granger, and you should also know Harry is up to the task; I have no doubt the Goblet was right to choose him as Hogwarts Champion, not counting whoever made the thing believe there was a fourth unnamed school exclusively attended by Harry Potter... The point is, he'll be alright. You need to have faith in him."

And, once she discarded rational thinking, she found that she did have faith in him. So did Dumbledore, but that was because he'd learned to toss any kind of rationality aside when he had to deal with the Boy-Who-Lived.

-o-O-o-

"Hogwarts Champion, Harry Potter!" the announcer bellowed with already his _Sonorus_'d voice.

The youngest contestant of the Tournament stepped out of the tent to face his Norwegian Ridgeback and steal its precious eggs. _Yes, Dragons do love their treasures, don't they?_

He made his way to a rock he could easily climb and, when the ground stopped shaking with the crowd's powerful cheers, he slowly raised his head to face the worthy opponent before him.

Suddenly, he jumped forward, bringing his right arm to the air in the same movement; a moment before hitting the ground, Gryffindor's ruby-encrusted golden Sword flew into his hand.

The spectators held their breaths.

Harry rushed straight toward the Dragon, the monster slowly inhaling in preparation for releasing a devastating inferno of magical fire. Harry only kept running forward, having already covered half the arena in his mad dash.

As the Ridgeback brutally lurched forward, unleashing a cone of hot death in front of it, Harry pointed his wand to the ground, shouting "_Bombarda_!", leveling the ground in front of him, and leaping in the trench, concealed by the cloud of dust.

The fire breathed over him, nearly marking his skin from a distance, though none could see that. Whispers broke into the spectator stands, all wondering whether or not they'd seen the last of Hogwart's resident Hero and twice Triwizard Champion.

Then a wind emerged from the arena itself, moving and controlling the dust. It progressively glided, sideways and forward, until the Ridgeback attempted to fry the confusing phenomenon, when it started going skyward; then, bruised, his clothes singed and dirt nearly encrusted into his skin, Harry emerged from it, diving under the flames.

Again the heat hurt him without him touching it, but he kept running forward, taking advantage of the fire preventing the beast from seeing him. He rushed around the Dragon and grabbed the Golden Egg, but had to swing back with the Sword to prevent the Ridgeback from clawing his back off.

As he ran away, the Dragon attempted to burn him for the third time, though Harry only had to get back in his hastily dug trench to survive. Casting a second _Bombarda_ to distract the monster for a second, he started running again and reached the other side of the arena unharmed.

The crowd cheered him on, and Madam Pomfrey was able to quickly heal the entirety of his minor injuries. But he wasn't done, no sir.

Once fully healed and dressed in new robes, Harry made his way to Dumbledore, slightly scowling, and waited for the old man to do his part of the job.

"_Obliviate_."

Rid of all the memories of his first run, with only a slight ache in his muscle to remind him of the effort, he reentered the arena, this time to face a Hungarian Horntail, known as the most brutal and vicious Dragon alive.

He took in the arena's condition, slowly walking around the back of the closed and warded space, out of reach for the beast. Only when his new plan was fully formed did he lift his chin to look his foe in the eye.

"Here it comes."

He took a step forward.

"Today's the day."

Another step.

"I've been waiting a long time for this."

The Dragon let out a deep, threatening growl.

"The crowning achievement..."

There was a hissing sound in the air.

"... of a true Hero!"

Harry started running up the highest rock, jumped forward to a fall that could break his legs, and his feet touched the engraved blade of Gryffindor's Sword in mid-air. The weapon, ridden by its master like a flying skateboard, flew at fightening speeds to the Horntail, the beast more than a little taken aback by this turn of events.

Harry easily dodged the first, large burst of angry flames, not a single strand of the lethal magic licking his robes; the mind-controlled Sword was being an excellent vehicle to its Master, and quickly they were high above the enraged beast.

Harry, without hesitation, released his mental hold on the Sword and grabbed it with both hands instead; he plummeted to the Dragon's head and, before he could land in its gaping maw, brought the legendary blade into its skull.

There was a huge spurt of blood, a soul-scarring shreek, and it was over.

The young Hero calmly walked back to the Medical tent, Golden Egg under his arm, no expression on his face, leaving a mad crowd to scream their excitement behind him. It was a good day.

-o-O-o-

In the merrily decorated Great Hall, the atmosphere was light and heartening; the dancers openly laughed their enjoyment of the show, parted to leave most of the dance floor available to Harry, Hermione, Harry, and Fleur.

The four dancers were engaged in a mesmerizing dance, twirling around, occasionally trading partners, so Hermione and Fleur sometimes danced with each other while the two Harry's play-fenced with the Swords.

Both Heroes were dressed in matching, though different, outfits, designed to go with the legendary weapons. The old-school formal robes flew as their wearers moved to the music, and the four had the time of their lives.

Fleur, especially, had never expected such a leetle boy to slay dragons and be the star attraction of the night, and she certainly did not regret accepting his invitation to the Ball. Hermione, on the other hand, was ecstatic to be Harry's 'main' date for the night, even more so considering the other date was the most gorgeous girl she'd ever seen.

-o-O-o-

The two Harry's bemusedly watched the two other Champions pull off magical feats and diving with only the tiniest hint of a plan, while they produced two long ropes from their expanded pockets. They tied it around their waists with care, not hurrying, then raised their hands.

As usual, the Swords flew into them in a matter of seconds, and the Harry's, without casting a single spell, and actually not doing anything that might have allowed them to survive underwater, pointed them at the Black Lake's depths before making them rush downward.

The two were pulled into the water at breakneck speeds, merely holding their breaths while they passed the disbelieving other Champions.

Not fifteeen seconds later they reached the hostages, and the Swords danced around the Merpeople's set-up, cutting all the ropes and freeing all of the hostages in three seconds. Meanwhile, the Harry's had been waving their wands to have the rest of their own ropes tie themselves around the waists of the hostages, Hermione, Krum's date to the Ball, and a little girl who could only be Fleur's sister.

It's not truly heroic if there isn't a damsel in distress.

Fifteen seconds later, the five were breaking the surface of the Lake for the second time in under a minute, the first Harry holding Hermione in his arms while the other had the young Delacour and Krum's date.

The Heroes stepped into the Medical tent, one to be Obliviated and sent back in Time, not that it would change anything to the plan he'd conceived days beforehand, the other to collapse: it was bad for the head to go up and down deep Lakes at such high speeds. Twice.

-o-O-o-

The two Harry's smiled at each other, not the slightest bit nervous, while Fleur and Viktor looked weirdly at the two younger Champions. They knew they had no reason to be afraid, what with the ease with which they taken care of the first tasks.

The first Harry was cleared to enter the Maze, but he only waited for his counterpart to be called, and then the two confidently walked in.

-o-O-o-

It hadn't been that hard, really:

Step 1: Try to deal with the obstacle.

Step 2: In case of failure, use Sword.

Step 3: Walk to the next obstacle.

"You grab the Cup, I'll go become you while you do that," Harry-1 suggested.

Harry-2 nodded and, after a brotherly backclap, grabbed a handle of the Triwizard Cup and promptly disappeared, his Sword strangely clattering to the ground instead of accompanying its Master.

The remaining Harry held his breath as the hedges slowly retreated into the ground to signify the end of the Task; everyone was looking expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation considering his other self's whereabouts. Only, he had no idea.

Panic settled. Harry had disappeared, and it was even worse for Harry-1 who didn't know _how_ this could make sense. If he was going to disappear when he time travelled and they knew it, why Obliviate him and send him back in the first place?

To preserve the timeline? A Hero is not afraid of Time, if he has to brave it to survive and save the world again, he will, and without hesitation too.

The wait was excruciating, but finally the abandoned Sword flew into the sky and someone spotted it, shouting "He's this way!" at the other Harry; stepping on his own version of the weapon he started flying in the same direction, though not as fast because of the added weight.

-o-O-o-

Once the Portkey had dropped him to the ground, and Harry executed his well-practiced most graceful landing, but before he could even start to take his surroundings in, a whispered _Stupefy_ struck him in the back.

Harry woke up to witness a horrible ritual, the sacrifice of bone, flesh, and blood, _his_ blood, bringing Lord Voldemort, Evil Overlord, back from the not-so-dead.

"Harry Potter... They praise your heroics beyond the borders of this country, and yet..."

Voldemort lightly touched Harry's scar, momentarily wondering why the boy wasn't screaming out loud in pain.

"And yet here you are. Defenseless, tied up, at my mercy... and I shall have none. _Avada_ -"

When Harry tilted his head to the side, the Dark Lord first thought he was trying to avoid the Killing Curse.

Instead, his Muggle father's headstone was pierced by a sharp blade where the brat's head had been a moment before. Even with ritual-enhanced reflexes and the speed of a Master Duellist, Voldemort could only barely escape death, even a momentary one.

Gryffindor's Sword did deeply slice open his jaw, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of blood, then flew right through Barty Crouch Jr's throat, and the fight started.

Voldemort flinging curses and commanding both his environment and conjurations to attack the artifact; the Sword flying around its opponent, dodging, reflecting curses and slicing right through physical aggressions.

None was able to land a true hit on the other for nearly a minute, and the unlikely fight continued. Harry had the Sword purposefully deflect a curse straight into his binds, and he ignored the pain of the magic that had lightly affected him while he struggled to get out of the damaged rope.

Finally he was able to break free, and ran straight at Voldemort to force him to face two opponents instead of one. The Dark Lord saw him coming coming and kicked him with great strength in the gut, stopping his advance. However, to do that he had to turn his attention away from the flying weapon, and his mistake cost him the thumb of his wand hand.

Harry commanded the Sword to come back to him, and the duel started anew: a hurt Voldemort having trouble using his wand as well as he used to with an incomplete hand, and a fourteen year old holding his own with a sword against a purely magical onslaught.

After a few moments it became obvious to the two that they were only wearing each other out, yet before Voldemort could attempt to change his strategy, a loud cry echoed in the sky, and a second Harry tore through the air, sword drawn, into the Dark Lord, whose shield barely stopped the blow from destroying his mortal body.

Then it was two on one, and even Nagini's attempt at aiding its Master against his orders to stay safe resulted in the snake's quick and mercifully painless death. The Dark Lord was regretting his decision to use an anti-Apparition ward on the entire area, for he would have needed seconds to break it, even though it was his own.

When his attempts at defending his newly resurrected body started becoming desperate, he managed stepping back twice in a row without having to deflect a blow and, through the blood that filled his mouth and ran down his body, incanted a curse that required speech to be cast: "_Avada Kedavra_."

The long incantation allowed Harry-1 to take Voldemort's entire left arm in an epic leap forward Sword-first while Harry-2 blocked the Killing Curse with his own Sword: there was a small explosion and all three were thrown back, hard. When they stood back up, a dent had been formed in the otherwise flawless blade, though before the fight could start again, the words were heard for the second time: "_Avada Kedavra_."

Only this time, the curse was dodged and, not ten seconds later, Voldemort was overwhelmed, both arms chopped off, wand snapped, stunned, bound, and stunned again for good measure.

-o-O-o-

At Hogwarts, panic was still the better word to describe the state of the crowd, everyone afraid for their Champion - Champions? -'s safety. Not many had understood that the mere fact that Harry had had the opportunity and the will to go back in time ensured he'd come back safe and sound, and in fact, the one and only person who wasn't panicking at all was Albus Dumbledore.

The Hogwarts Headmaster was sipping a cup of tea he'd had an also panicked House Elf bring him, still sitting while everyone else was frantically rushing about, demanding answers and seeking reassurance. He had faith in Harry, so it was barely a surprise to him when the two of him came back, riding their Swords, with a half-dead Voldemort between them and the Cup in a bundle of cloth. Barely.

In the end, Dumbledore transfigured the defeated Dark Lord into a hat and wore him while he sought out the Prize money and handed it to Harry-2, whose memory he restored. He then gave Harry-1 a mild Pepper-Up potion, Obliviated him and sent him back in time, comforted in the knowledge that it would all turn out for the best.

Really, it wasn't _that_ hard to deal with Harry. All it took was a little detachment, then you could sit back and enjoy the show.

-o-O-o-

A/N: I think this is the end of this fic, transfigured Voldie will have trouble dominating the world once Dumbledore dumps him in a Fidelius'd chest filled with Draught of the Living Death and sends him into outer space, and I don't think a Horcrux-Hunt would be fun to write/read.

For the moment I'll keep working on my first novel-length fic, though don't expect me to update twice a week like I did a few times: I've already lost (damn you USB key!) my first draft of the next chapter, and I've started med school, so free time's gonna get scarce, I tell ya.

Hope you liked what I wrote, please review/fav and recommend :) Remember to PM me for questions, suggestions and discussions, and see you next time!


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